She was a formidable ship, no doubt about that. And Arnold Morgan guessed she had been detailed to escort the original mine-laying Chinese frigates, and possibly even the Kilos, out of harm’s way. He also guessed, correctly, that she had been refueled from a tanker out of the Bassein River, which he found, frankly, infuriating.
“And now, where the hell’s she going?” he growled to the empty room. “It had better be far away from any of our current operations. I don’t expect the Indians will be too pleased to see her, either.”
The question was, What to do? “I guess we can’t just sink the biggest ship in the Chinese Navy without risking a world-class uproar, which will send gasoline prices even higher,” he pondered. “But she has to leave the area. That’s for sure. Before someone gets trigger-happy.”
He picked up his secure line to Admiral Dixon and outlined the problem.
“Sir, I do agree. She cannot be allowed to remain in our area of operations. I have warned the Chinese, and everyone else to that effect. I think we have to take the view that the Chinese and the Iranians, in the absence of any denials, are plainly in breach of every world peace convention in mining the strait. I propose to issue one more formal warning, directly to Beijing. Either they get that destroyer out of the area, or we’ll do it for them.”
“You saying sink it, Alan?”
“Nossir. I’m saying cripple it. With minumum loss of life.”
“Using?”
“A submarine, sir. Stick one of those MK 48s right into her stern. Blow the shaft, steering and propulsion all in one hit. Probably take out her missile launchers too with a couple of shells. Then let their friends from Iran come out and tow her in. That way we hold on to world opinion, with very few casualties, and a well-deserved warning to China to stay the hell out of the strait.”
“What if she returns fire?”
“Sink her, sir. Instantly.”
“Good call, Alan. Let’s go.”
Lieutenant Commander Dan Headley, his early watch just one hour old, called for a transcript of the new orders just in from the carrier. “Hard copy twice, Jack,” he called down to comms. “One for the CO.”
Five minutes later he read the instructions, to the USS Shark, ordering them to locate and track a Sovremenny-Class destroyer, probably flying the flag of the People’s Liberation Army/Navy. It had been picked up by the overheads moving slowly up the southernmost coast of Iran, course approximately two-seven-zero. According to Fort Meade, right now at 0530 it should be somewhere to their nor’noreast, maybe 27 miles up ahead.
Shark’s sonar room had already located a ship right in that area, and the ESM had reported an occasionally transmitting Russian radar. The flag was correct. She was going slowly. The Sturgeon-Class American submarine would catch her inside 90 minutes. Their orders were simply to get in contact with the destroyer, track her silently and await further instructions.
Lieutenant Commander Headley ordered flank speed, course three-six-zero, which should put him in the correct position sometime before 0700. He had someone awaken the CO to apprise him of the situation and was mildly surprised when Commander Reid did not show up in the control room anytime in the next 45 minutes. “Guess he trusts me,” thought the XO. “Even though he has known me for only five days.”
In any event they rushed on north, remaining just below periscope depth, leaving a wake on the surface, which no one was around to see. At 0640, Lt. Commander Headley slowed down to come to PD and took an all-around look at the surface picture. Sure enough, out on the horizon, right on their one o’clock, was a large warship. Dan Headley had already memorized the profile of the Sovremenny, and this was her, large as life, steaming on six miles off the coast of Iran, as if she owned the place. The engine lines on the 8,000-ton double-shafted destroyer matched the GTZA-674 turbines on the computer model.
He went back below the surface, dictated a signal to the flag and had it transmitted, announcing he was in contact and was proposing to track the destroyer two miles astern pending further orders.
Dan ordered a course change…“Come right seven degrees…down all masts.” At which point a frisson of excitement ran through the submarine, as it always does when any potential quarry is sighted, even in exercises. Now, with the most dangerous warship in the Chinese Navy in their sights, USS Shark came unmistakably to life.
At 0700 the Commander came into the control room. He talked to his XO for a few minutes, bringing himself into the picture. But he did not assume command. Rather he left “to find some breakfast,” and asked Dan to let him know if anything important occurred.
By now they were running line astern to the destroyer, four miles behind. But the Chinese ship was moving faster now, still heading northwest along the Iranian coast. As far as Dan could tell she was not transmitting and did not even have her sonars switched on, which the Kentucky-born officer thought was “kinda eccentric.” Given she’s just mined the Strait of Hormuz and the business half of the planet Earth is seriously pissed off with the ship and all who are sailing on her.
Nonetheless, the Hangzhou ran on at a steady 20-knot speed, which again Dan Headley thought was ridiculous. By varying her rate of knots between say four and 25, it would have been much more difficult for a submarine to track her. Alternatively, at her quiet, low speed, she might have actually heard the submarine, charging along astern, trying to catch up, making a noise like a freight train. Beats the shit out of me where they train these guys. Some Chinese laundry, I guess.
And so the Shark slipped into a classic sprint-and-drift pursuit, running as deep as she dared in the 50-fathom waters along the coastline for fifteen minutes, then coming up for another visual setup, to update the operations plot for the Fire Controller, just in case they should be ordered into action. Naturally, every time they came up they lost speed, “drifting” quietly forward at five knots, losing ground all the time.
Six miles short of the minefield, the Hangzhou made a course change, swinging more westerly, as if to run along the line of the minefield. It was light now, and Lt. Commander Headley immediately accessed the flag to inform them of the change in direction.
Admiral Bert Harman, in the group ops room high in the island of the Harry S Truman, was uncertain, although his orders were clear. He instructed his comms room to alert the destroyer she was straying into a prohibited area where U.S. warships were supervising a mine-clearing operation. She was to be warned in no uncertain terms to leave forthwith, to resume her course to Bandar Abbas and to remain in harbor right there until further notice.
But the Chinese Commanding Officer had been instructed to observe proceedings, and to bow to no threats from the U.S. Navy or any other Navy. The CO, Colonel Yang Xi, thought this might have been perfectly feasible from a desk in Beijing, but out here it looked very different. He could see U.S. Navy ships out on the horizon, steaming along the line of the minefield, in which he’d just seen a sizable explosion.
He decided to ignore the warning, since he considered the Americans were unlikely to open fire. Rather he would slow down and go in closer for two more miles. He was now in international waters, and he could take his time with his turn. Meanwhile he would place his surface-to-surface Sunburn missiles on full alert.